The World Is My Lobster

I was surprised when you called recently, rebbe. Surprised to hear your deep baritone voice, your familiar cough, the singsong of your voice. It felt odd to talk to you again. You wondered aloud about rumors you had heard. I had drifted off? Vus Titsech? you nudged.

Let me tell you, rebbe, remember the story of the stockbroker who loved lobster?

It was on one of those many nights — remember them? — when we would gather at your corner of the Beis Hamedresh. We were a select group, those of us who would stay after Maariv and learn late, in groups of two b’chavrusa or huddled alone over a sefer. Outside it was dark and cold but inside we were safe and comfortable, poring over our books. Later we would sit around your shtender and you would speak to us about life and Torah, mitzvos and learning. Your twinkling eyes bespoke your cleverness and your long white beard framed your smiling countenance that reflected wisdom and sagacity.

Remember how, sometimes, at the end of those long evenings of study, when the brain’s capacity for debating laws regarding shoe-spitting or oxen-goring was maxed out, you would regale us with parables and stories? If we were lucky, you would share with us an experience from the outside world that you ventured into, only l’tachlis of course. Your fundraising tales peopled with the colorful characters you encountered.

And one late Thursday night, you told us about your meeting with this Manhattan stockbroker. This guy, he mamesh oozed money, you said. He wasn’t so frum himself, but he sometimes supported Torah. He had some connection remaining from his Yeshiva day school education of years long past.

You always spoke your mind, rebbe, so this one time you told the man he had to change his ways and live a more Toradikeh lifestyle. You presented a fearsome argument, one that sounded so clever, so witty and original to us, your seventeen-year-old students.

“Look here,” you said to him, presenting your points in classic lomdishe fashion, singing your words as if you were explaining the svora of some achron. “If I’m right about Toireh, then you’re wrong, so gehenom awaits… And if you’re right–” here your thumb twisted up into the air, “–and the Torah is not the right way to live by, then what am I missing out on? Poshut,” you explained to the guy, “it’s a risk/reward thing. You stand to lose so much more than you stand to gain, so you have to be frum!”

“And really,” you pressed him, “what about your current life would you lose if you became frum?” And we smiled and nodded along with you, rebbe. Really, what would he lose?

And you told us how the guy hemmed and hawed, and then you chuckled as you recounted his reply, the best he could come up with: “But rabbi, I would miss my lobster.”

He’d miss his lobster! Lobster! We all laughed till our sides hurt, and then we went off to bed, still laughing as we prepared our cups for negel vasser and while we recited birchas hamapil.

It’s been five years, rebbe, since I pulled up a chair at your side. Now I meet my friend Jake every week, at Sung Tzu’s All You Can Eat buffet.

I make my way around the endless line, taking in the soups, the salads, the breads, the shrimp dipped in batter, the aromatic clams marinating in exotic sauce. The Mongolian immigrant manning the grill speaks little English, but his eyes sparkle as he flips his cuts of meat on the grill. A brown-skinned child bumps into my legs and I clutch my tray protectively. His mom apologizes with a smile as she herds him along.

My plate is piled high, rebbe, with foods that originated all over the world, dishes from every culture, tastes of every kind. And I slide into the booth across from Jake.

“How’s it going?” Jake asks.

I want to say, “I just got laid off from my dead-end job. I’m in my mid twenties and am still struggling to get a basic education. I know little about social norms and normative societal behavior. My parents won’t speak with me or allow me to speak to my siblings.”

I listen with half an ear as he chatters on, I pick up my nutcracker and prepare for the highlight of my evening. You didn’t know, rebbe, that we use nutcrackers to break a lobster claw, did you? But that’s how we do it.

I remove the claws and with particular single-mindedness I go about tearing apart the crustacean on my plate. I savor the rich spongy flesh, reveling in the tangy flavors exploding in my mouth. The shell, claws and tail are no match for my prying fingers.

Too soon, I’ve tracked down every last scrumptious morsel. I push the shell-littered plate away with a sigh of contentment.

19 Responses to “ The World Is My Lobster ”

Gutman Braun on August 4, 2011 at 2:48 pm

Brother, you sure took me on a trip back in time…It seems like just yesterday that I sat around listening to countless similar stories with punch-lines that weren’t, together with the ‘yes-men’ nods and full throated laughs. How many times I wondered what the joke was – and who it was really on – not to mention how it was that the other fellow could always be so daft?!

I fully believe that it was those tales of the foolish outsiders that convinced me that our holy men with the sweet smiles were engaging in a high-pressure sale of an empty bill of goods — at least if they had been attempting to push me into a buying a time-share I would have received a free vacation…

Norm from New Jersey on August 4, 2011 at 5:46 pm

I don’t eat lobster, or for that matter, any non-kosher types of foods, for reasons of taste and allergy, and tradition (and I don’t eat meat either). So for me, that has nothing to do with the cost of believing. The cost of believing is chosing not to see the world as clearly as you can, but seeing at you think you are supposed to. Once you give up your primary determination to see truth clearly, then there is no limit to the disastrous conclusions that you can come to, which may make the difference between the community’s survival or destruction.

That is the cost that is too high to pay.

Puzzled on August 4, 2011 at 8:04 pm

I’ve been told “you just want sex and lobster” too often. I like to respond by asking why the rabbi isn’t Catholic.

So, what are the odds that your rebbe has ever heard of Blaise Pascal?

These stories with the clever rabbi who makes a fool of the poor non-believer without ever offering anything concrete always sat wrong with me. That was while I was still a kid, before I learned anything about critical thinking, logic, or formal theology. Now… now they’re just sad. The rebbe in your story doesn’t know that he doesn’t know anything about theology.

Gutman Braun on August 4, 2011 at 8:25 pm

G*3,
While I wholeheartedly share your attitude on the matter, I don’t think that he (or anyone) had to have been aware of Pascal to come up with the general concept…

short on August 4, 2011 at 9:09 pm

So we know how the lobster it, but how is the sex.

Kafhakela on August 5, 2011 at 12:26 am

I’ve been told “you just want sex and lobster” too often.

Same here. But here’s the thing. I DO want sex and lobster, along with some other worldly pleasures. And that is wrong because…?

> G*3, While I wholeheartedly share your attitude on the matter, I don’t think that he (or anyone) had to have been aware of Pascal to come up with the general concept…

No, of course not. The point was that he thought he had this clever chop that showed how much smarter it is to be a frum yid, while he was completely unaware that the exact same argument has been debated to death… and that the first person to formally present the argument was a Catholic ARGUING FOR CATHOLISCISM.

Justin on August 5, 2011 at 1:37 am

As an aside, therein of course, has been one of the flaws in Pascal’s argument. The argument that posits that Catholisism is the smart money bet is inherently flawed because by the same token how can you discount the value of wagering on Judiasm or Budhism, indeed (and I’m loosely quoting Dawkins here) how about betting on the god Flying Spaghetti monster?

It reminds me of an encounter I once had on mivtzoyim. Me and my chavrusa were having a long debate with one of the guys on our route about G-d , whether he existed , what his nature is etc. At one point my chavrusa said , “so basically your problem is..” and the guy responded with a smile , I don’t look at my lifestyle and theology as a problem, it seems to me you guys are the one’s with problems , you feel the need to convince others of your religion and theology. His response got me on the road to some serious thinking , and the rest is history :).

Baal Habos on August 7, 2011 at 9:14 am

So often, I hear the words of my rebbee clicking in my ear with his clever insights. I just love these yeshiva stories.

Gutman Braun on August 7, 2011 at 3:17 pm

Justin,

I was thinking about this piece (and FreiFems’s “Green Eyed Monster” post) yesterday, and it strikes me as another example of a certain reality that seems to be found everywhere that humans function in groups. I know that it’s not an incredible or deep chiddush, but I’d like to share it anyway – especially since I’ve been watching this in action recently:

In a certain corporation that I had some interaction with, the management personnel generally made it to where they are and achieved success merely by being able to use force of conviction to make it sound like they have the answers. Here’s a typical meeting:

Assembled to discuss problems with the technology they are using (and how to solve those problems) are managers, technical experts and various employees (such as programmers, users and troubleshooters). Now, only a couple people there really understand the technology, while most of the assembled have only spotty understanding of those inner workings. Invariably, management personnel automatically begin stating the problems and solutions – dictating orders for how the problem will be handled.

However, they tend to be the least knowledgeable. Moreover, even their understanding of the problem is generally not accurate – and they seldom (for some odd reason), if ever, consult the individuals who are most likely to grasp the challenges and have the knowledge to propose good solutions. The assembled participants of the meeting should, and I think do, know this – yet, they happily remain silent and are ready and willing to follow orders, regardless of the fact that it makes little (if any)sense. If they’re lucky, one of the truly knowledgeable individuals may attempt to steer the managers and the conversation towards a sensible direction (and this is also fascinating to watch) – but it’s not always the case and not always accepted.

My point is that this dynamic highlights how humans like to function: Those who climb the ladder of success are most often not those who are correct, rather, they are merely those who speak with conviction and maintain an authoritative tone while ensuring that they maintain the peoples trust (which is actually not all that hard to do).

And this is true everywhere: Religious leaders succeed primarily because humans suffer from such great uncertainly that they will give almost anything to have someone just tell them the way it is – and what a relief it is to find such a person! And if you think we don’t all do this somewhat, let me point something that I have always found to be amazing:

Take, for example, a reputable newspaper article or book, etc. If we know very little about the subject matter, we generally trust the article to be fairly accurate – however, when we are familiar with the topic, we almost always find the article to be full of inaccuracies and mistakes. Thus, knowing, as we do, that they’re almost always wrong when it comes to things that we know about, shouldn’t we consider all the information that we read or are told about as highly suspect?

And the answer must be, “No” – it’s just way too hard (impossible, really) for humans to verify every bit of information we encounter. We are hard-wired to accept information that passes our first line of defense (i.e. it comes from a source that we don’t reject and it doesn’t conflict with the way we are already inclined to think). Therefore, to a great extent, leaders of all groups succeed through force of personality and conviction, and the followers are comfortable with that (often knowingly). Thus, for the sense of security that the individual will gain by trusting in the Rabbi, Priest, Manager, etc, most of us will gladly give up truth.

Only a very small % of us prefer the road less taken.

Ash on August 8, 2011 at 12:17 pm

Tisha b’av is coming today. I am a 16 year old Baal Teshuva. I was hit for wanting to keep Shabbos, I was threatened for demanding Kosher food at home. Now after all the waves and rubble, I am here, at peace, seforim, learning, and H”s beautiful world. When lobster goes in you come out of the restaurant, the same damn person you were when you walked in. Nothing about your essence changed, except for a new pile of fat to take over your stomach. When you open a Tehillim, ok you dont WANT to, but you will never be the same again, you will never feel like the same person, you grew, but the only difference is the one with the tehillim was you, what was typing here, was the yetzer hara from within.
if you really want to give this one more shot to talk this over im ashtor613@gmail
May you have only Hatzlocha, and i say that because you can.

Toeh Pastovich on August 8, 2011 at 12:49 pm

I was transformed greatly by tehilim. Realizing it’s utter futility and irrelevance has changed my life forever.

I don’t dispute that one can find comfort in tehilim, but those that consistently make claims on it’s behalf do a disservice to the book and make a mockery of themselves.

Transformed, indeed.

Todd on August 12, 2011 at 2:57 pm

Lobster is not dangerous to the fanatics. Sex is not dangerous to the fanatics. If you reject their lifestyle because of either they will say you are just weak.

If you reject it because its foundations are rotten or because it’s just not true you are dangerous. Thought and inquiry are deadly to it.